The Vault by Peter Lovesey Read Free Book Online Page B

plums of my collection."
    "Must be worth a bomb," Diamond was moved to say.
    "You'd be surprised at the prices I paid. I study the art market and look out for bargains. I wanted you to see that I'm not the philistine some people take me for. I have a degree in chemistry. I have a respect for the arts as well."
    Diamond thought he had better demonstrate some respect of his own. One of the paintings, at least, had something other than a few wretched sheep huddled under trees. "I like that blueish one with the dark figure moving across the icy background."
    "The Blake? Yes, I'm particularly pleased to own that. We have to say 'attributed to...' because it isn't signed and isn't listed in the catalogues of his work. It doesn't even have a title, but I say it's definitely a Blake, and several experts agree with me. The stylistic features are unmistakable. Are you familiar with Blake's work?"
    Occasionally, Diamond's grammar school cramming came to his aid. "The Tyger?"
    "I was speaking of his art," said Sturr. "The fluidity of his line. The power of the images. His figures, whether mythical or human, are instantly recognizable."
    Diamond went closer to the picture. "Who's this then?"
    "I meant recognizable as the work of Blake."
    "Got you." He would still have liked to know what it was about, the tall, shabby, long-haired figure striding through a desolate landscape of snow-covered rocks.
    The councillor explained, "Mythological, I'd say. The figure doesn't look entirely human to me. Blake was haunted by visions, of course. Oh, yes, there's no question that he painted it.
    Superintendent, you're a connoisseur. You picked out the pearl of this little exhibition. It's the only Blake I possess. He produced an enormous amount, but much of his work was engraving, and I only go in for watercolours. Mine is one of the best private collections in the country and I want to share it with people."
    "Great art belongs to the world."
    "My sentiments exactly. We could get on well, you and I," said Sturr. "So what's your real opinion. Off the record, aren't our streets more dangerous than they used to be?"
    Whatever he privately believed, Diamond was not admitting it to this man, fellow connoisseur or not. "It's swings and roundabouts," he said. "If you're talking about streets, the chance of being killed by a car was higher when we were kids than it is today."
    "Don't give me that. There are far more cars on the road."
    "Far fewer deaths, though. If you don't believe me, check it out."
    "Are you responsible for traffic?"
    "No, sir. I investigate murder, when it happens."
    "And how often is that?"
    "Often enough to keep me in employment."
    "Are you working on a case right now?"
    Diamond smiled. "No, I'm looking at pictures."
    "You can't be all that busy, if they let you have an evening off." Councillor Sturr had not got elected for being tactful.
    "I'm working on a case from a long way back," said Diamond, "when the world was supposed to be a safer place." He was not known for his tact either. And this had not been an evening off.

eight
    THAT NIGHT, IN THE privacy of their suite at the Royal Crescent Hotel, Joe Dougan came clean with Donna.
    "Want to see something special?"
    Donna had just showered and changed into her nightdress. Her eyes, usually so expressionless, widened and sparkled. "Why, have you brought a friend?" she teased him, loosening her hair. Then she noticed he was holding out a book, one of many he had carried away in triumph from Hay-on-Wye the previous week.
    "Jeez, Joe, it's bedtime."
    "You don't have to read it."
    She had no desire to handle a book so old that its binding was turning to a reddish powder. "What is it?"
    "The Poetical Works of John Milton."
    "Terrific."
    Ignoring the sarcasm, he said, "Yes, I happen to agree with you. It is terrific."
    An argument at bedtime is not conducive to sleep or anything else. In a change of tone, Donna asked, "Is it the first edition?"
    "Lord, no. A Milton first edition would be more